


Severus Snape's Biggest Mistake

by NedjheretHethert



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, I am so so sorry...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NedjheretHethert/pseuds/NedjheretHethert
Summary: Perhaps his mother had been right. And now it was too late to repair the damage.





	Severus Snape's Biggest Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In no way do I own the characters or world in which I choose to write.
> 
>  
> 
> (Based in large part on interactions with my own family.)

His mother had frequently warned him: unkind words, whether spoken in jest or truth, had a most unpleasant way of building on each other, compounding themselves into truly vile feelings which bred only pain and indignity. Muggles had their own phraseology for the phenomenon, although a great deal simpler: If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

These tidbits of information would have been useful in the hands of most, but not necessarily of value to the frighteningly intelligent, mischievous young boy he had been, and certainly not for the furious, powerful wizard he would become as a man. He really should have listened. It would have changed the course of so very many lives..

He and Lily had began what they referred to as "The Game"; who could come up with the funniest, least offensive insult without so much as cracking a smile. The rules? No profanity if possible, never take it personally, and never, ever play it in the hearing of others. Now, obviously, this form of entertainment was in direct opposition of his mother's advice, but he and Lily were fast friends. Nothing she could ever say would hurt him, he was sure of it. His mam just had to be wrong.

And so it went for several years. "Prat. I told you he would find out you snagged the last copy!" "Idiot girl, she just likes you because you bought her a present." "Dunderheaded boy. If you keep teasing Tuney like that, she'll start spreading rumors about you. Just watch!" Oh, he loved the word. "Dunderhead." Insulting and amusing at the same time. He actually laughed at this one. And maybe he would have been grouchy about losing, but... well, she laughed too. And she really was stunning when she smiled! The next loaded barb hit a bit closer to home, it seemed. This one didn't make her laugh. Or smile. "Ginger menace. I swear those " Marauders" of yours are out to get me. Just because I have a bit of a strange sense of humor, just because I'm not afraid of a little darkness... Why do you tolerate them, anyway? "

He never did find out exactly what had bothered her. Was it because "ginger" sounded too close to "minge" for her comfort? Maybe it was mention of the relentless bullying he was subject to. Or bringing up what was rapidly becoming a sore point between them, his references to his own darker nature.. Perhaps even discussing her tolerance of their horrid behavior to him. These days, he had little way of knowing. She had, after all, been avoiding him of late. It was only days until O.W.L.s. Everyone in their year was cramming information into their poor brains at dizzying levels.

And then it happened. Suspended by the ankle by the petty little tormentors, soap bubbles foaming from clenched teeth, being threatened by public exposure to all and sundry. Every jest, every insult, every iteration of the foul name for people of her birth uttered in his Common Room , every moment of resentment he had secretly harbored in the recesses of his aching heart. "I don't need help from a filthy little Mudblood like you!" It turned out his mother's advice had been well-founded after all.

Days of pleading, days of groveling, days of rejection and refusal. Then a year of no contact one might mistake for amiable behavior. Graduation. Taking the Mark based on foolish recommendations from what he thought were his friends. Or allies. Well, alright, people not actively hostile towards him. The closely set funerals of both of their mothers. Now a wedding, followed closely with rumors of impending motherhood. The beginnings of renewed friendship. And, finally, the death of every dream he had ever imagined. Lily was gone, and he couldn't follow. The only link remaining was a small boy who looked precisely like his father, with Lily's beautiful eyes peering from within hated features. Potter.

The fall of the Dark Lord. Years of disquiet, waiting, existing, merely expecting the usual idiocy of those around him. Sycophants hiding in the dark, scurrying like rats at a single whiff of Aurors, watching for signs of their beloved Dark Lord come yet again to rip families apart, tear away the fabric of society. Careless students who couldn't be bothered to simply pay attention, to follow clear instruction, to think for themselves instead of stuffing their faces and gabbling about yet another Quidditch game, another Hogsmeade weekend, another holiday. Years of knowing it was only a matter of time until the Potter monstrosity appeared in Hogwarts, knowing it was only a matter of time until some foolish soul brought back the seeds of destruction. 

And then years of scrabbling about, trying desperately to protect the Boy-Who-Insisted-On-Mortal-Peril. Years of praise for the mediocre boy, with his mediocre ginger friend and the irritating, insecure swot. Years of trying equally desperately to steer his Slytherins from danger, watching their families fail them one by one and unable to intervene. Years of condescending looks and remarks from his "allies" in the Order, of half-revealed instruction from Albus, and the final betrayals of the old man.. Save the boy only long enough for his purpose, be the instrument of Albus's death, abandon the Light long enough to serve your purpose but expect only death as reward. All events put into motion because his mother's word wasn't good enough, not after hearing the multitude of vile epithets and abuse pouring from his own father's lips. 

All those years wasted. Over a game. The summons to the Shrieking Shack (apparently the third time is the charm, as they say..) and Nagini's fangs extended, imbedded deeply in the flesh of his ripped throat. Minutes flew by in so little time as a blink. "Take.. them. Take.. them..." An agonized pause. Veins like liquid fire, blood flowing over his frock coat, his robes, the slats of the filthy floor. "Look at me... You have your mother's eyes..." Finally, blackness, the last threads of life snipped away, separating his soul (not nearly as fractured as he had feared) from the abused flesh in which it had formerly been imprisoned like a poorly-used garment no longer of any importance.


End file.
